Villain (Gone 8)

“What do you want?”

“I want you to be free,” Shade said. “Get away from this place. Spread out. Move. The guards will recover. So, run! Get away while you can.”

Many waited no longer but ran. Among them a handsome young man who, as he ran, began to morph, with a long blade growing from his right arm as chitinous armor covered him.

Knightmare!

Well, it was not the time for dealing with that particular creep; she had bigger fish to fry. She wasn’t here to settle scores, she was here to expose the Ranch and liberate its victims.

Hero stuff, she couldn’t help but think. Hero stuff. Finally.

“Everyone out!” Shade yelled. “They’re recovering, and they’ll be on us quick!”

“With all due respect, miss, no,” a man’s gruff voice said. It came from a sort of tank creature with an articulated robot arm and a bristling weapons array that included empty missile-launcher tubes. A human head could be just glimpsed through a visor slit. The placement of the head made it nauseatingly clear that there was no body attached to it.

“No?” Shade demanded. “Why not? And who are you?”

“I’m Master Sergeant Matthew Tolliver, United States Marine Corps.”

“Okay, Sergeant, what is it you want to do?”

“Miss, I first want to thank you. Second? Well, miss, second, I want to take this place apart, brick by goddamn brick, computer by computer, man by man. That’s what I would like to do.”

This was met by sounds of approval ranging from the timidly reluctant to the fierce. On the fierce end of the spectrum was the porcupine creature, a body so poorly conceived, so misshapen that he bled from half a dozen punctures he himself had inadvertently made. He had one human eye, and one mechanical eye that bulged out a bit like a thermostat. His mouth was too wide, as if he was auditioning for a role as the Joker. His teeth, tiny and sharp as needles, made speech difficult. His tongue bled when he moved it over his teeth. Quills like knitting needles stuck out from his forehead.

“I’m Jasper Llewellyn,” the monster said, his own blood trickling down his chin. “I speak for no one. But before I run, I’m killing some of these bastards!”

Someone in the crowd hissed the single word “Revenge,” and Shade had a sudden, sickening realization that she had done more than free these poor people and expose the Ranch to the world: she had doomed the Ranch’s staff.

Disturbed, but with no idea what she should do about it, Shade simply said, “You’re free. Do what you want.”

Then she stripped off her camera and turned it around on herself. “I’m Shade Darby. This horror show is run by the US government, by a group called Homeland Security Task Force 66. Do you see what they’re doing here? Do you see what they’re doing supposedly in your name? So who are the bad guys? Us or them?”

Not all the mutant or cyborg denizens of the Ranch were capable of escaping. Some were dependent on exotic chemicals being pumped into their systems. Others were so malformed, so twisted and destroyed by the effects of experiments with DNA and the rock, or such ill-conceived man-machine fusions that they were utterly crippled. But many could escape, and fled into the woods to be pursued by news helicopters filming both the freaks and the military helicopters raining murderous fire down on them.

Others, though, had the means to inflict revenge. And their victims, too, fled for the woods.

Those who lived that long.

CHAPTER 14

Missed Him by That Much

THE VENETIAN CASINO had already seen many strange things, but none stranger than the sight of what looked like a very large, bipedal, tailless, black-furred, snake-haired feline, followed by a towering bipedal, humanish-faced polar bear.

The casino level was a scene of utter chaos. At least four separate groups of EMTs hunched over bloody people, and were surrounded by cordons of police a

nd casino security struggling to hold back what looked like tourists, many elderly, who seemed determined—as astounding as it was—to eat each other, the cops, the EMTs, and the wounded. Indeed, the wounded themselves snapped at the medical techs’ hands as they tried to apply bandages. Many of the wounded had been handcuffed for their own safety. Other handcuffed people lay on their sides gnawing at the air, growling and mewling and trying to squirm toward the nearest living person.

And all the while came the moans of those helpless to resist Dillon’s cruel orders. I’m sorry! I can’t stop myself! Someone stop me! My God, I can’t stop!

Dekka and Armo shouldered through crowds of people in uniform, the wounded, the mad, and the terrified, demanding to know how they could get to the tower.

Once they were noticed—and Dekka thought it showed just how crazy the scene was that Dekka and Armo were not immediately noticed—a trio of Las Vegas police detached themselves from handcuffing people and advanced with guns leveled and very serious, very angry looks on their faces.

“Freeze or we shoot!” This came from a police sergeant, a Latina with eyes that very definitely meant business.

“Who is doing this?” Dekka demanded.